


Dethklok Gets Medieval

by LadyJaneSlay1554



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Audience Participation, Bar, Beer, DInner and a show, DethTrain, Dethklok - Freeform, Dinner Theatre, Dungeon, Executioner - Freeform, Feast, Field Trip, Gen, Knights - Freeform, Serfs, WWF Fighting, Weapons, Wine, cocktails, falcon - Freeform, fight to the death, joust, medieval times, wenches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22474894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyJaneSlay1554/pseuds/LadyJaneSlay1554
Summary: Dethklok hits up a local Medieval Times with high hopes as a post-tour treat.Chapter 4 is up - Knights arrive at the arena!Work in Progress!
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	1. Commercial Break

**Author's Note:**

> Written by an honest-to-goodness Medieval Times Bar Wench. Brought on by daydreams of how Dethklok would take to a visit to the nation's greatest Dinner & Tournament show. 
> 
> More chapters to come!

Nathan let out a huge sigh. “HUUUUUUUUUUUUURGH. Guys, I’m bored!” He kicked at the remote pedal at his feet, changing television channels at breakneck speed. His bandmates snacked on chips and sipped their booze. The DethTrain trundled through southern Wisconsin, having just finished a series of shows in Milwaukee. 

Flip, flip, flip. 

A toothpaste commercial. A talk show. Kids’ cartoons. Afternoon news. A home renovation program. 

And then… trumpets, a queen raising a chalice in a toast, jousting knights and glimpses of a four-course feast. Nathan’s mouth fell open. 

“Oh, schweet! Dat’s Medieval Timesch!” Murderface exclaimed, pointing at the television. “There’sch a new schow with a queen – it’sch been all over da news.”

“What ams dis place? Some sorts of Renaissance Festivals banquets?” Skwisgaar gazed at the screen as a busty blonde serving wench poured tomato bisque soup into a pewter bowl.

“Oh, wowee! Looks at the pretty horses,” Toki said, taking in the sight of the beautiful queen on horseback, and then staring at a snippet of a fancy dressage equestrian routine. A falcon swooped and dove above an arena packed with cheering guests.

“Oh YEAH,” Pickles said, halfway through a top shelf Long Island Iced Tea. “My parents took me and Seth dere a few years back when we had relatives in – great food. Cool knights an’ stunts. But da bar wenches were my favorite part of da show!” 

Nathan stared at the television, noticing the location of the nearest castle. “Hey, there’s one, uh, kinda close outside of Chicago. Why don’t we go? Lots of food and medieval action. Pretty metal.”

It was nearing dinnertime, and DethKlok glanced as Charles descended from the fireplace viewing platform on the train’s second floor. “What’s this about, ah, Medieval Times?”

“Did you see the commercial? That place is pretty nearby, right? Why don’t we, uh, make a stop for dinner? Give old, uh, Jean-Pierre a break?” Nathan tried to gauge how apt Charles was to accept such ideas.

“Is this something you’d, ah, all like to go to?” the CFO asked.

Murderface spoke up. “There wasch juscht a commershial on – four coursch meal with a two hour schow – jouschting, falcolnsch, a queen…-”

Pickles cut him off. “WEEENCHEEEES! BEER WENCHES!”

Nathan cut in – “It looks like they fight TO THE DEATH – IT’S SO BRUTAL!”

Toki said, “The Queen ams so beautifuls dat I woulds rides one of those fancy horses and fights for hers!”

Skwisgaar scoffed. “Psch. You wouldn’ts haves a chance with her once she saws me!”

“Fine, fine, fine. I’ll make some arrangements. Just, ah, be ready when we get there.”

“Brutal.”


	2. Exploring the Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dethklok and their crew meet the Queen, get some tasty drinks, upset the castle's falcon and wander around the dungeon while waiting to be seated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a typical pre-show at Medieval Times.

Around 6.20 that night, the boys were dropped off with Charles, five Klokateers and Jean-Pierre at the castle’s entrance. Fanciful medieval-style music was playing on speakers outside. The doors had just opened and a young man dressed in tights and a green tunic checked them in, handing them all laminated, decidedly un-medieval looking VIP Royalty cards. 

“My lords, you are most welcome to Medieval Times! Oh, uh, how nice, you brought your own executioners, haha,” he quipped nervously, clearly intimidated by the Klokateers. “Please step this way to the VIP entrance.”

The group passed by a giant portcullis-decorated wall and proceeded directly to the check-in registers. Faux torches and heraldic banners adorned walls on one side of the room, while medieval maps and murals bedecked the other. Serfs (male servers/attendants) and wenches (female servers/attendants) busily checked in guests at computers. 

Charles made a bee-line for the first open register. “Ah, reservations under Offdensen. I spoke to, ah, Wench Miriam on the phone just an hour ago.”

The wench at the computer nodded cheerfully and entered some information and waited. A few seconds later, she smiled. “Yes, my lord! We are so happy you have at our castle. And, as you requested, we are keeping your visit on the DL. We know you are here to enjoy yourselves, not to be mobbed by fans.” Twelve tickets shot up from a slot beside the computer. “You’ll be cheering the Green Knight this evening, my lords! Please enjoy the tournament.” She placed the tickets and twelve laminated seating cards into his manicured hands.

“Thank you, m’lady,” said Charles, trying to get into the spirit and language of the castle. “You’ve been, ah, most accommodating.” Charles smiled at the blushing young woman.

She beamed and motioned them to the next short line, where a jolly young Filipino man welcomed them in a theatrical voice. “Welcome, dread lords of Leon! You shall be raising your drinking horns and voices in praise of Don Temple, the fearsome Green Knight! The Queen is most pleased you have graced the tournament with your presence. Cheer loudly and enjoy the festivities!” 

The young man and a brunette, buxom wench swiftly placed green crowns atop the groups’ heads and they headed into the next room. Pickles and Murderface ogled the wench, admiring her figure as she crowned them. “I wonder if ssche’d crown me after the sschow?” Murderface mumbled to Pickles, leering at the young woman.

They moved on. Toki’s breath caught in his throat. There, in the next room, stood the poised, elegant Queen in a flowing red and gold gown. “Oh, wowee! Dere ams da Queen! She ams likes a statue – so beautifuls and tall!”

“Shuts ups, Toki! You ams goings to makes us looks bad,” the Swede hissed, trying to glower at Toki and grin at the Queen at the same time. She was staring at them.

With a puzzled look on her face, Queen motioned them into the room.

She collected herself and declared, “My fierce Lords of Leon! You are most welcome to my castle! I pray you, stand next to me for a portrait.”

With the band, Charles and Jean-Pierre in the center with the Queen and the Klokateers on the sides, a serf with a camera snapped a few pictures. Her Majesty then had an idea – “My Lords, shall we have a portrait made with our fiercest battle faces?” She furrowed her brows and brandished a fist, her mouth open as if to shout a war cry.

“Oh, guys, check it out - this Queen is BRUTAL!” Nathan exclaimed, trying his best to look like Conan the Barbarian. Murderface scowled and Toki made as if to tear through his own shirt, his muscles bulging. Skwisgaar put on an icy, evil glare and Pickles threw his arms into the air and pulled a psychotic face. Charles glowered at the camera, and Jean-Pierre menaced a Klokateer with a wooden spoon he happened to be carrying. The rest of the Klokateers just stood there, already looking fearsome in their executioner-like uniforms. The serf snapped a few “portraits,” and the Queen wished them all a good time at the tournament. 

Toki watched the rest of the group leave, but lingered behind, still admiring the young Queen. She had dark brown, densely curly hair, sparking blue eye, a pretty smile and wore a heavy-looking crown. The guitarist took a deep breath. “Your Highness, you ams the most loveliest Queens I haves ever mets. Thanks you for the warms welcome to yours castle and tournaments!”

Smiling graciously, Queen Maria Isabella took Toki’s hands in her own. “How sweet of you, my noble Lord. I pray you enjoy my castle and all of the wonderful surprises within.” She looked into his grey-blue eyes, blushing slightly. “I must say, you look as though you have the makings of a knight of the realm yourself! I pray we meet again, my handsome lord.” The Queen continued to hold the Norwegian’s hands, much to his delight.

Just then, a little girl in a blue princess dress made her way halfway into the room and stomped a tiny, plastic pump-clad foot. “I WANNA MEET THE QUEEN! MOM, DAD…!” she trailed off into shocked silence as she watched Toki kneel and give the Queen a quick kiss on the hand. Getting up, he smiled back at a shocked and delighted young monarch as he proceeded to the Great Hall, finding his bandmates, CFO and Klokateer friends at the bar. Jean-Pierre had wandered over to the Wine Bar.

“… and I’m afraid that’s all the beer we have on tap, m’lords,” said a tall brunette bar wench. Her tip jar matched up with her nametag, which read, “Helga.” “May I see your IDs, my lords? And are we all together as one, or on separate cards?”

“My card, m’lady, and we’d, ah, like to keep a tab open for the night,” Charles said as he flashed his ID and his credit card.

Her eyes lit up at seeing the band, but she tried her best to keep cool – Dethklok… here! It really WAS them – she got to card them all. Time to do the best damn job bartending she’d ever done in her entire life. She needn’t have worried too much, though, as they all ordered easy-to-make drinks. Pickles ordered a hefty “Royal Knight” in a ceramic stein. Wench Helga insisted that she put half her bar rail into it, and after watching her make the thing – a combination of vodka, rum, pineapple juice, orange juice, grenadine and cherry brandy over ice, Pickles believed it! “Be careful my lord, ‘tis a sipping drink,” she warned. Pickles smirked. 

Toki and Skwisgaar both ordered “First Knights” – strawberry piña colada alcoholic slushie drinks in glass beer steins (after a heated round of “STOPS COPIES ME”). The rest of the group ordered seasonal and local beers in huge collectible plastic drinking horns and 32oz jumbo glass pilsners, which Wench Helga referred to as, “Big Boy Glasses.” 

Grinning like an idiot, she rang up their sale, suspended it, and let her esteemed guests know that she’d take care of their orders in the arena, too, and at the end of the evening. Serf Brian at the service position at the bar smiled widely, knowing that the tip-out that evening would be a whopper, for himself and for Wench Helga. Exclaiming about how tasty their drinks were and thanking Wench Helga, the band left more than a few sizable bills in her tip jar and proceeded to check out the lady falconer to the left of the Wine Bar. Before they left, the boys snapped a few pictures with their new favorite bar Wench. Helga had never been so happy to be in a picture.

Jean-Pierre was at the Wine Bar, looking at the selection. Serf Ben, a sturdy-looking fellow, was explaining wine package deals to the chef. “The moscato is good if you want something sweet with your chicken dinner, my lord. But, if you like reds, the pinot noir has been selling very well this past year, too. These are $28 for a bottle, and $40 to start for a package deal with two souvenir glasses.” 

“Yes, very good,” Jean-Pierre said. “Three of each bottle; the moscato and the pinot noir, please. With 12 black chalices.”

“Of course, m’lord. You’re in the Green section, yes? I will have them sent down to you.” Jean-Pierre handed his Dethklok card over and paid for the wines, tipping Serf Ben handsomely.

The chef made his way over to look at the beautiful falcon and falconer with the rest of the band. 

“And as you see, my lords, there aren’t too many people around so I can remove Athena’s hood so she can meet you.” The young falconer, Lady Katrina, took a little hat-like hood off the bird, revealing the falcon’s face. The bird shook her head and blinked, adjusting to the bright lights. “Pictures are wonderful, but please no flash…-”

The falconer was cut off as Murderface, ever the tactile learner, immediately went up to pet the bird, who became startled and let out a series of loud screeches. The bird flapped her large wings, nearly hitting Lady Katrina. Murderface stepped back, surprised at the bird’s outburst. His beer sloshed onto his vest from the horn hanging at his neck. “Aw, fuck.”

“Haha, Murderface – seems like no ladies like you – not even lady birds,” Nathan cajoled as the rest of the band laughed.

“Easy there, Athena,” Lady Katrina said gently, deftly hooding the protesting bird with one hand. “PLEASE BACK AWAY FROM THE BIRD, MY LORDS,” she said, with more than a hint of anger in her voice. “Birds like Athena – Lanner Falcons – don’t like to be petted, much less startled.” She glared at Murderface. “This is a working bird who hunts – and kills – on a regular basis. Please, RESPECT THE BIRD.” Her face softened. “I can answer any questions you might have about Athena.”

Murderface glowered at Lady Katrina and Athena, then stalked down the hallway to look at the castle’s dungeon museum. A Klokateer accompanied him.

“Yuh, where ams she from?” Skwisgaar took a gulp of his First Knight cocktail.

“Lanner Falcons are from Africa. In the middle ages, they were often given as gifts to European nobility and royalty, who would go hunting with them.”

“What ams dey huntings?” Toki sipped his cocktail through a paper straw and took a picture with his DethPhone.

“Small game birds, rodents. They strike quickly and kill the animal. The falconer collects the animal for their meal, or their ruler’s meal. The falcon gets a reward of a piece of meat. We feed our falcons quail.”

She glanced at the clock at the Wine Bar. “We need to get ready for the tournament! Thank you for your questions, my lords…. And for behaving around Athena,” she added in a lower voice.

The group proceeded past a gift shop and a few horse stalls on display through glass windows. Three magnificent stallions were being groomed and made ready for the tournament. Two of their coats were silvery white and another one was pitch-black. 

“Uh, the silver ones ams from Spain – Andalusians,” said Skwisgaar, noting the literature beside one of the stalls.

“This black one makes me think of Ragnarok – you know – the one I rode in Thunderhorse. He was a, uh, Fresian, too,” remembered Nathan nostalgically. He took a big swig of his Fallen Angel beer. “This local stuff is pretty good.”

“Hey, guyssch! You gotta check dissch plassche out!” Murderface excitedly beckoned from the dungeon. Seemed like he’d found his own personal heaven as he kept pointing out torture devices. 

Nathan looked at an overhanging human-sized cage at the entrance. “Whoa. They put people up there to starve? Or just to display corpses? Either way, pretty brutal.” He grinned, taking in the sights.

“Whoooaa! Check dis ding out. Hey, Murderface, wut goes on wit’ dat?” Pickles pointed at a long table with a system of ropes and pulleys, rollers and wooden frames for hand and foot confinement. 

“Ah, that’ssch the rack! They’d pull musschlessch and jointssch apart to help with interrogationssch! Did you know that if you pull a persschon apart hard enough that you can hear popping noisschessch assch their jointssch disschlocate?”

“And it says heres dat’s lots of times, dey would brands the persons while dey ams stills on the rack,” said Skwisgaar, observing a nearby sign.

Toki looked at a large set of tongs and pinchers nearby. “Or they coulds pulls out finger and toe nails as deys were stretched – dat’s terrible!”

“That’s history, and as we all know, history is fuckin’ BRUTAL,” said Nathan sagely.

They looked at horrendous breast rippers and gags for “troublesome” women. A headsman’s axe and block were nearby. Charles took two sets of pictures – one with Dethklok taking turns at the block and with the axe and another with all of the Klokateers standing by it together. Toki remarked that he couldn’t wait to add the photos to his scrapbook.

As they were finishing looking through the dungeon, trumpets sounded and they were told to go into the arena to their assigned table. They filed into the nearest door which coincidentally was adjacent to their Green section. Easily, they found their seats and settled in. Soon, the show would begin!


	3. Settling in for the Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dethklok and their visiting crew are seated and get to know their servers, sharing a toast.

Almost as soon as they were seated, a beautiful red headed serving wench walked over to their section. Every jaw in the Dethklok group dropped as the petite, buxom young woman with intricately braided hair and a wide smile welcomed them to the castle and let them know what was on the menu. “It is my great pleasure to serve you this evening, my lords! Raise a cheer for the Green Knight, our champion and fierce defender of the realm of Leon!”

Every member of Dethklok shouted at the top of his lungs in reply to Wench Kathrine, who smiled back at them with perfect white teeth. “I’ll be right back with your soft drinks as soon as I pour your soup, my lords.”

“But what if we want booooze?” intoned Pickles.

“Well, that’s where I come in,” said a familiar voice seductively.

“Bar Wench Helga!!” the band declared, along with several Klokateers.

“Haha! That’s right, my loves! Wench Helga at your service, straight from the magical land of alcohol! Aren’t you a lucky lot – you have the two most beautiful wenches to serve you in the realm! What can I summon for you from the bar?”

Everyone got refills on what they’d already had, except for Toki, who tried a new slushy alcoholic drink – a strawberry, vodka and peach schnapps creation called a Maiden’s Kiss. Pickles ordered two double Royal Knights, even though Wench Helga promised she’d be back on more rounds throughout the tournament. Charles added a double shot of cognac (neat) for himself and a round of whiskey shots for the entire table of twelve. Helga entered all the orders into her computer tablet, remarking, “Medieval technology – gotta love it, huh?”

She was soon off, and just as Wench Katherine had finished dispensing soft drinks, and “Bread of Garlic” to go with the “Dragon’s Blood Soup” – tomato bisque, according to Jean-Pierre - the wine and fancy black chalices arrived.

Charles had one of Klokateers pour red or white wine for everyone at the table and proposed a toast. 

“To the, ah, castle,” said Charles.

“To ze feast,” said Jean-Pierre cheerily.

“To the dungeon musscheum,” growled Murderface.

“Tos the Queen!” declared Toki rather loudly.

“To the weeennnchess,” slurred Pickles.

“To the knights,” boomed Nathan.

“Tos the animals – horses and falcons!” intoned Skwisgaar.

And Dethklok raised their glasses and drank a toast.

Lights dimmed as fog began to filter in. Crashes of thunder and a red light in the middle of the arena illuminated the figure of… THE EXECUTIONER! He stood in the center of the arena, held his axe high, and cracked a bullwhip, extinguishing the lights! The crowd ooohed, aaahhed and screamed in delight.


	4. Knight Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dethklok and crew meet their Green Knight.

A trumpet fanfare heralded the arrival of the Master of Arms, who cantered in on the elegant black Fresian stallion the band had admired during the pre-show. The bearded announcer had short cropped blonde hair and wore a heavily decorated copper, black and gold surcoat and tunic set. Both were bedecked with griffons. He maneuvered the steed to the center of the arena and held his hands aloft.

“Welcome, gracious Lords and Ladies, Princes and Princesses! Her Majesty is most pleased you have chosen to witness a champions’ tournament and feast with us this night! Here, you will find a sumptuous banquet fit for royalty. On this auspicious evening, you will cheer your brave and daring knight to victory in the joust and on the battlefield. These warriors have been made it their life goal to uphold the code of chivalry and to defend their kingdoms. They have trained and fought many battles to become the best of the best, and tonight, they compete to become the personal champion of Queen Maria Isabella, the fair and just ruler of this realm!”

“Ok, so, uhhh, where are these knights? This guy isn’t just gonna yap the whole evening, I hope,” grumbled Nathan between bites of tomato soup-soaked garlic bread.

“Naah, I think he’ssch gonna introdussche the knightscch to their sections,” reassured Murderface between soup slurps. “Thissch sschtuff is real good. Hope Jean-Pierre can make it for us back at Morhaussch.” 

Hearing this, Dethklok’s chef extracted a test tube from a duffel bag by his seat and poured some of the soup into it. It was a fine bisque – he’d have to ask for the recipe or try to recreate it on his own for his band.

Lights dimmed in the arena and illuminated the Yellow Knight’s section. “In his defense of Navarre, he is a rock,” said the Master of Arms, revving up the crowd. “He is well-versed in the art of chivalry, yet in the attack, he is the lion uncaged! Let the ring of steel herald his arrival, and the smoke of battle linger in his wake, for the legend walks among us. Ride forth, Don Ray, the Yellow Knight!” 

A slim young man with flowing light brown hair and a goatee charged into the arena on a silver and grey steed. The knight was followed swiftly by a stout squire with a rather Viking-like look. The Yellow Knight brandished a shiny sword as he paraded in front of his section, his squire waving his yellow and black banner with a fierce boar emblazoned upon it. The Yellow section went wild, cheering and waving banners and flags. 

The Master of Arms went on introducing the other knights. As he was finishing talking about the Black and White Knight, the band’s drinks arrived, carried carefully by Wench Helga and two helper serfs. 

“Look, my Lords! I brought my pets, haha! Young Jay and Davy wanted to help.” The two made themselves useful by carefully following Wench Helga’s directions about who got what drink. After they’d been served their beer and cocktails, the bartender herself presented the band and their crew with their shots. She motioned at the entrance of the arena nearby. “Save your whiskey – Your Green Knight is up next! He loves it when you toast to him!” She scampered to the top of the Green section, wanting her famous guests to be able to bask in the green glow of their champion… and to admire him herself.

The Master of Arms took a serious tone. “This warlord of Leon in an unquestioned master of weapons who has never been unhorsed in the joust. No mantle of peace or of serenity will ever grace his shoulders, for his temper is the dragon’s claw. All hail Don Temple, the merciless Green Knight!”

A fearsome-looking knight on a dark grey horse galloped into the arena, his hooded eyes blazing. His chiseled face wore a scowl and his deep chestnut hair flowed as he spurred his charger to rear in front of his section. Dethklok stood and cheered their brutal-looking champion. The knight’s rugged-looking squire brandished a green flag with a snake-like golden dragon upon it. The Green Knight motioned to the group’s whiskey shots and threw his hands into the air as he shouted a guttural battle cry. He spoke. “A toast to you, my heathen brethren. Soon, we shall drink from the skulls of our enemies!”


End file.
